his father’s reign, he restored, infusing into it vigorous life; and
he did more to promote elementary education than any of his
predecessors. He did much too for the economic development
of Prussia, especially for agriculture; he established colonies,
peopling them with immigrants, extended the canal system,
drained and diked the great marshes of the Oderbruch, turning
them into rich pasturage, encouraged the planting of fruit
trees and of root crops; and, though in accordance with his
ideas of discipline he maintained serfdom, he did much to lighten
the burdens of the peasants. All kinds of manufacture, too,
particularly that of silk, owed much to his encouragement.
To the army he gave unremitting attention, reviewing it at
regular intervals, and sternly punishing negligence on the part
of the officers. Its numbers were raised to 160,000 men, while
fortresses and magazines were always kept in a state of readiness
for war. The influence of the king’s example was felt far beyond
the limits of his immediate circle. The nation was proud of his
genius, and displayed something of his energy in all departments
of life. Lessing, who as a youth of twenty came to Berlin in
1749, composed enthusiastic odes in his honour, and Gleim,
the Halberstadt poet, wrote of him as of a kind of demi-god.
These may be taken as fair illustrations of the popular feeling
long before the Seven Years’ War.
He despised German as the language of boors, although it is remarkable that at a later period, in a French essay on German literature, he predicted for it a great future. He habitually wrote and spoke French, and had a strong ambition to rank as a distinguished French author. Nobody can now read his verses, but his prose writings have a certain calm simplicity and dignity, without, however, giving evidence of the splendid mental qualities which he revealed in practical life. To this period belong his Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire de Brandebourg and his poem L’Art de la guerre. The latter, judged as literature, is intolerably dull; but the former is valuable, throwing as it does considerable light on his personal sympathies as well as on the motives of important epochs in his career. He continued to correspond with French writers, and induced a number of them to settle in Berlin, Maupertuis being president of the Academy. In 1752 Voltaire, who had repeatedly visited him, came at Frederick’s urgent entreaty, and received a truly royal welcome. The famous Hirsch trial, and Voltaire’s vanity and caprice, greatly lowered him in the esteem of the king, who, on his side, irritated his guest by often requiring him to correct bad verses, and by making him the object of rude banter. The publication of Doctor Akakia, which brought down upon the president of the Academy a storm of ridicule, finally alienated Frederick; while Voltaire’s wrongs culminated in the famous arrest at Frankfort, the most disagreeable elements of which were due to the misunderstanding of an order by a subordinate official.
The king lived as much as possible in a retired mansion, to which he gave the name of Sanssouci—not the palace so called, which was built after the Seven Years’ War, and was never a favourite residence. He rose regularly in summer at five, in winter at six, devoting himself to public business till about eleven. During part of this time, after coffee, he would aid his reflections by playing on the flute, of which he was passionately fond, being a really skilful performer. At eleven came parade, and an hour afterwards, punctually, dinner, which continued till two, or later, if conversation happened to be particularly attractive. After dinner he glanced through and signed cabinet orders written in accordance with his morning instructions, often adding marginal notes and postscripts, many of which were in a caustic tone. These disposed of, he amused himself for a couple of hours with literary work; between six and seven he would converse with his friends or listen to his reader (a post held for some time by La Mettrie); at seven there was a concert; and at half-past eight he sat down to supper, which might go on till midnight. He liked good eating and drinking, although even here the cost was sharply looked after, the expenses of his kitchen mounting to no higher figure than £1800 a year. At supper he was always surrounded by a number of his most intimate friends, mainly Frenchmen; and he insisted on the conversation being perfectly free. His wit, however, was often cruel, and any one who responded with too much spirit was soon made to feel that the licence of talk was to be complete only on one side.
At Frederick’s court ladies were seldom seen, a circumstance that gave occasion to much scandal for which there seems to have been no foundation. The queen he visited only on rare occasions. She had been forced upon him by his father, and he had never loved her; but he always treated her with marked respect, and provided her with a generous income, half of which she gave away in charity. Although without charm, she was a woman of many noble qualities; and, like her husband, she wrote French books, some of which attracted a certain attention in their day. She survived him by eleven years, dying in 1797.
Maria Theresa had never given up hope that she would recover Silesia; and as all the neighbouring sovereigns were bitterly jealous of Frederick, and somewhat afraid of him, she had no difficulty in inducing several of them to form a scheme for his ruin. Russia and Saxony entered into it heartily, and France, laying aside her ancient enmity towards Austria, joined the empress against the common object of dislike. Frederick, meanwhile, had turned towards England, which saw in him a possible ally of great importance against the French. A convention between Prussia and Great Britain was signed in January 1756, and it proved of incalculable value to both countries, leading as it did to a close alliance during the administration of Pitt. Through the treachery of a clerk in the Saxon foreign office Frederick was made aware of the future which was being prepared for him. Seeing the importance of taking the initiative, and if possible, of securing Saxony, he suddenly, on the 24th of August 1756, crossed the frontier of that country, and shut in the Saxon army between Pirna and Königstein, ultimately compelling it, after a victory gained over the Austrians at Lobositz, to surrender. Thus began the Seven Years’ War, in which, supported by England, Brunswick and Hesse-Cassel, he had for a long time to oppose Austria, France, Russia, Saxony and Sweden. Virtually the whole Continent was in arms against a small state which, a few years before, had been regarded by most men as beneath serious notice. But it happened that this small state was led by a man of high military genius, capable of infusing into others his own undaunted spirit, while his subjects had learned both from him and his predecessors habits of patience, perseverance and discipline. In 1757, after defeating the Austrians at Prague, he was himself defeated by them at Kolin; and by the shameful convention of Closter-Seven, he was freely exposed to the attack of the French. In November 1757, however, when Europe looked upon him as ruined, he rid himself of the French by his splendid victory over them at Rossbach, and in about a month afterwards, by the still more splendid victory at Leuthen, he drove the Austrians from Silesia. From this time the French were kept well employed in the west by Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, who defeated them at Crefeld in 1758, and at Minden in 1759. In the former year Frederick triumphed, at a heavy cost, over the Russians at Zorndorf; and although, through lack of his usual foresight, he lost the battle of Hochkirch, he prevented the Austrians from deriving any real advantage from their triumph, Silesia still remaining in his hands at the end of the year. The battle of Kunersdorf, fought on the 12th of August 1759, was the most disastrous to him in the course of the war. He had here to contend both with the Russians and the Austrians; and although at first he had some success, his army was in the end completely broken. “All is lost save the royal family,” he wrote to his minister Friesenstein; “the consequences of this battle will be worse than the battle itself. I shall not survive the ruin of the Fatherland. Adieu for ever!” But he soon recovered from his despair, and in 1760 gained the important victories of Liegnitz and Torgau. He had now, however, to act on the defensive, and fortunately for him, the Russians, on the death of the empress Elizabeth, not only withdrew in 1762 from the compact against him, but for a time became his allies. On the 29th of October of that year he gained his last victory over the Austrians at Freiberg. Europe was by that time sick of war, every power being more or less exhausted.
